>> Saturday, March 13, 2010

"Caribbean" by Abi Campbell

Beleaguered with their historyonce white invaded the islandsyet the rhythm of their indigenouslives still beats; now harder then everAppreciation of breadfruit; lingeringabove the dark skininherited by those soulshave been painted into the soil.Voices of wave, calling out to lifebreaking through the tensionof humid airan air wishing to tell the story of humanity

"Arriving" by Dan Dickinson

As I walk out of the airplaneI am thinking goodbye MaineWhen I look at this lovely placeYou should of seen my shocking face

All of the sailing I have learnedIn the process I am completely burnedAs the Caribbean stands aloneI am completely blown.

"This Island" by Macy Lamson

She takes care of usShe despises usWe sing praises, loud rhymes of loveEver hopeful that she’ll let us go home

She is natureShe is the laughter of the sailor’s desiresWe have a perfect love, But a broken friendship

So, over the seas, we shall sailThe journey will be an exciting taleOver the seas our quest is doneOnly because she let us have fun

"These Islands" by Lee Brown

On the clouds we will meetwith the moon at our feetand the sun’s glow is gone, its only us in this dream

Mingled wine is our claim,in this murderous fate,and our black grief is here,but its eve is of late,

When the full moon shines tonight,we will fly from our keep,and the blood of our fathers is alive,and love will lie in restful sleep,

till the sun shines upon us, we will dance in the night, with the light of the moon,and the love of the fight

with their screams in the air, we will wear this tragic mask, and bring terror to the world, and to all of them that last.

"A History" by Kaitlin Orne

would we have remembered if it were us?remembered the simple sound of ourselves laughing at the moon, singing to the stars,playing with the other broken souls that were once treated as foul animals;perfect people forced to live in an imperfect world.their voyage had been chosen for them-we got to invent ours

"My Poem" by Jesse Prothers

You lay above the geotropical equator You are the place I was bornYour constant beauty and warmness astounds meThere is a certain bondage between you and meThe way we have changed before each otherWe are similar but we are different,You have seen pain, brutatality and bloodshed part of you has been destroyed, a scarthat you shall bare for all eternity

You have been my life companionlike peanut butter and jelly, I am onlyhalf a sandwich without youWe share a bond like no otherYou have never been cruel to me, you are beautiful, gentle, giant

When I return to you I am hitwith an embracing sunlight hugYou are the flower that never closesThe brightest star in the sky during the clearest nightMy desire to be with you has no limitto fall alongside you and float in yourvast oceans would be a dream come true.

"Trinidad Garden" Short Story By. Crawford Cunningham

Every Saturday morning I get to watch the sun rise. Watching it poke through the trees on the hill across the path. I see the sun’s rays light up the pink and purple flowers around me as it warms me up. On some days, just from first light, you know if its gonna be a hot day. There are a few early morning joggers as well as people strolling the gardens at first light. Later in the mornings people begin to file in. Some groups are larger, others are just couples going for a walk. On the best mornings I get to hear the beautiful voices of the church and prayer groups that meet in the parks. Some mornings tourists will come to the park to find lush, beautiful gardens filled with colors they could never have expected. Throughout the day the people come, some to play, others to talk, and others to silently sit, contemplating things. I see all of this happening around me. Often, people use my branches as cover from the intense rays of the sun. In the evenings people come to watch as the sun sets over the horizon, “Oohhing “ and “Aahhing” as the sun dips under the earth.

“In the Garden" by Abi Campbell

A late Saturday morning in the gardens of Trinidad. Although the grass is brittle due to drought the flowers are their usual color: bright magenta, cool pink, and pastel shades of purple. Tourists and natives alike, walk past on the paved pathway weaving like a maze throughout the gardens. Little school boys in their white and black uniforms run ahead of their mothers laughing and stumbling over their young feet as their mothers gaze ahead smiling. Just across the field under the shade of a gazebo stand people singing in unision, swaying back and forth to the beat enjoying the enlightenment of their weekend church sermon. Couples holding hands stroll by admiring the tall trees but making sure to avoid the small purple flowers laden through the grass with their feet. The sound of birds chirping to one another from branch to branch in their own specific tone cancels out the sound of cars whipping past only a few hundred feet away. But as I hear the sound it brings me out of this fantasy world back to reality.

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Ocean Classroom Family and Friends:

Throughout our sailing voyage we will do our best to update the blog with both exciting tales of our adventures and photos to prove every word. Do not fret if there are no new updates for a few days, or even weeks during our longer passages; resources are limited, and we cannot post to the site until we find internet access ashore. We will do our best when resources and time are available.